


Bones Deep

by soncnica



Series: kosti!verse [6]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Abused Jensen, Abusive Parents, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, Blood, Child Abuse, Crying, Cutting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Language, Fear, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Medical Inaccuracies, Older Jared, POV Alternating, Panic, Panic Attacks, Psychologist Jared, Questional Psychological Tactics, Referenced Medicinal Drug Use, Running Away, Scars, Younger Jensen, not really a summer camp, smart boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-19 08:39:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4739960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soncnica/pseuds/soncnica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jared hasn't been the psychologist at Camp Gamble long. He always wanted to work with kids - troubled kids - but now it looks like he might be in over his head. Jensen is 16, Jared is 26.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: I seriously only own the grammar/spelling mistakes. Everything else is NOT MINE! ALL IS FICTION.
> 
> PLEASE READ: After a comment I received on a story in this verse, I remembered that I forgot to put an EXTRA WARNING on this verse, so here it is:
> 
> I, and everyone in the story, are very much aware that what needs to be done in cases like these is call the proper authorities and report the parents.  
> But that being said, as you may have noticed I'm writing this from Jared's and Jensen's POV and no one else's in the story. And as you also may have noticed I'm writing this at snail pace, as in, I'm writing without any time skips or anything like that. So ... you see where I'm going with this!? I can't say what someone else in the story is doing or what will happen next from someone else's perspective. I think everyone reading this will just have to trust me.  
> Thank you! And please if you aren't okay with any of this, please stop reading as I don't want to hurt anyone. That is not the intent of this story.  
> Thank you!

 

He lost time. He knows he lost time and he hates when that happens, but this time he's sure it wasn't blood loss' fault, or too much pills' fault. He knows that.

Because he doesn't feel lethargic, he feels float-y, but differently than most times. He doesn't feel like he does whenever he wakes up at home. Like he's suffocating; fear crawling in his stomach, punching holes into him from the inside out.

No, he feels good. A bit shaky, the index finger on his left hand can't stop twitching, his legs feel a bit heavy, but nothing he can't handle. His mouth doesn't taste like puke anymore, which ... okay. Is good.

It's morning outside; he can hear the birds singing and other campers going to breakfast. He doesn't wanna open his eyes. He wants this moment to last, just lay here on the bed, stretched out in this warmth, letting the outside noises wash over him.

He feels safe, even if he lost some time, time he will never get back. But it's okay, because it was time spent being safe.

A kid groans outside the window about how he _doesn't wanna eat pancakes for breakfast today_. Spoiled brat.

-:-

There's an odd kind of pressure in his head and a strange deep pinch in the back of his right hand, but when he wants to move, to make it go away, like swatting a fly, he can't move a muscle. His finger is still twitching, he can't make that stop no matter how much he tries, but everything else feels like it's dead. Like his muscles packed up their bags and left him with nothing but bones and skin.

"Jensen, hey buddy, you awake?"

The voice is soft, barely loud enough to carry over the morning ruckus coming from outside.

He wants to speak, say _fuck off_ , _leave me alone_ , _leave, leave, leave fuck_ , but he can't move his lips. He ... he doesn't want to move his lips. He doesn't want to. He wants this moment to last, because then maybe ... he won't have to leave the camp, because no one would be able to move him or make him wake up.

"Okay, alright, well ... then just go back to sleep."

He knows Jared knows he's awake, the man ain't stupid, he knows pretense when he sees it, but he really just doesn't want to move his lips or open his eyes. Doesn't wanna talk about whatever happened last night and he sure as hell doesn't wanna see the look in Jared's eyes. Those eyes that always feel like they're analyzing and poking and prodding at his mind, until all there's left is him wanting to punch, scream or just simply break down.

Doesn't wanna see Jared's face - all concerned lines and softness and calmness.

Doesn't wanna see the world yet, can't face it yet. Not yet. He wants to just lay there, with his eyes closed, shutting out the world and worried gazes and questions he has no answers to.

So he doesn't open his eyes, just kind of stares into the darkness of his closed eyelids. It's better like this, better to be in the darkness, better to hide there and stay there. For just a little while.

He hears Jared move in the room, hears clothes rustling, a chair moving and a door opening and closing. After a while, he falls asleep. And in his dreams he's moving and running. Running away.

-:-

"Jared we need to call his parents."

"Yeah, I know."

"Dude, do not give me that look, man. This is serious. He tried to kill himself and I didn't say anything and now this, dude, man ... We have to."

"I know Mike, don't you think I know that?!"

"Then stop looking at me like that, just ... Fuck Jared, you can't fix this by yourself, you can't. And man, this is breaking the rules and ... and ... law ... keeping quiet like this..."

"Mike, I know, but listen..."

The words are heated, but to him they come muted by the door. But he can still hear them as loud and clear as if Jared and Mike are speaking into his ear.

Parents.

Call his parents.

His parents.

Will come.

There's a weird feeling building in his throat, a deep pressure like something got stuck in there and he can't swallow it down, or around it, and he can't ... his chest is tight, his stomach crawling with what feels like maggots slithering up and down in him ... he can't...

His parents.

Jared and Mike will call his parents.

They will come. Take him. They will...

He tries to swallow down the mass of something that has wedged itself in the middle of his throat and it's pushing into his eyes now … he won't cry. He won't. He won't give them the satisfaction, he can't...

Shit.

Fuck

Damnit.

His parents and they will come and, and they will have him again. Maybe kill him someday soon. He can't...

The maggots in his body are growing, he can feel this crushing pressure in his lower back, his stomach is crawling, his chest is tight and his eyes are stinging.

They will call his parents and they will come, take him to that house, and, and, and kill him. He just knows it.

And there will be no one to mourn him. No one will miss him. No one will even know he ever existed, the real him, not the 'under drugs him' or the 'bad, bad boy him' his parents always say he is. Him. Him. No one will know he was and then wasn't. Maybe Jared. Maybe the shrink will know ... but then again Jared will probably never even know he died. Who would tell him?

He tuned the words out a long time ago, but he can hear murmurs, so they're still outside talking. He can't allow his parents to take him. He can't ... he wants to live, have a life, go to school, have a family, wife, kids, a job. He wants to see and experience all those awesome things people always talk about; sex, safety, love, gentleness, calmness, sunrises and sunsets and in between them life. Just life where he won't be scared of every second of every day. Scared of shadows and doors opening and closing.

He needs to run away, goddamnit, why can't he just run away? He tried at night, but he didn't come far, only to Jared's cabin and what the fuck was up with that? He had the perfect opportunity to run, run into the woods, hide and find somewhere to hole up until everything would settle down. Why did he end up at Jared's then?

Fuck his screwed up head and body and ... he can move. He can ... move. His legs are working, he can bend his knees. His arms are okay too, he can move them.

He opens his eyes. He's at Mike's cabin, the medic cabin. Ugh. He's lying on the bed, covered by a white sheet and the light from the window across from him is bright. And warm. Midday then. He can tell by the position of the sun and he can hear the other campers swim in the lake. Can hear the water splashing and kids screaming in... happiness.

He breathes. One, two, three, deep breaths to unclog his throat, to settle down the maggots of fear in his belly, to stop the crushing pressure in his lower back and upper chest. Four, five, six, deep breaths. He needs air in his lungs, needs it more than anything.

"We need to fucking call his parents! What the fuck is wrong with you? It's the goddamned..."

Mike's raised voice comes to him and he flinches.

He can' t ... no!

He uncovers his legs and throws the sheet to the floor.

He can't ... he can't stay here.

A pinch and a sting in his hand stop him from moving off the bed and he'd forgotten about that. He looks at his hand and: "Shit, shit, shit..." there's a thin tube and a lot of white tape and he has a needle in his hand. He doesn't know what to do. It kinda hurts now when he's looking at it, but he doesn't know what to do. He has to get away and he can't really run anywhere dragging the pole with the nearly empty bag on it with tubes going into his hand.

_Shit, shit, shit._

He touches the tube, slides his fingers across the white tape holding everything in place and bumps at the place where something goes under his skin. He'd never ever had an IV before, doesn't know what to do with it, should he just rip it out? Would that damage the vein? Make him bleed to death?

He doesn't ... he doesn't know. He doesn't ... he can't...

His parents will come get him and that ...that will be worse than if he damages his vein and bleeds to death. At least it's gonna be death by his own hand.

He takes a deep breath and pulls. He can feel something sliding out of him, something thin and it hurts. He bites his lip because he doesn't wanna make a noise, he doesn't want anyone to hear him and come inside the room. The thing is out of his hand, and blood trickles out of the wound. He throws it on the bed, scratches the tape off his skin and stands up from the bed.

He's still wearing his clothes, which is great, his shoes are under the bed, which is great, he does sway on his feet when he stands up on his own, without supporting himself on the bed, but it's nothing he can't handle.

He can handle anything. Anything, but going back to his parents.

His hands are shaking, he's still bleeding a bit from the back of his hand, and he presses his other hand there, hisses and closes his eyes, because ow.

But he'd worse. And he will have worse if he won't go away.

Now. And maybe this time he will actually get somewhere and not collapse before Jared's feet again.

-:-

He walks to the window on unsteady feet, listening to the kids shouting by the lake, knows that everyone is there, because its midday and its time to relax. He knows the camp will be empty, except for the "guards", but the same as the "night watchers", he knows their routine. Had studied it.

He can do this. Whatever was in that IV, did something to him, made him feel a tiny bit better than how he felt last night, he's not shaking as much anymore, or sweating as much. Now he's just sweating from fear, last night … he doesn't know what that was all about. He doesn't wanna know.

All he knows is that, the window is way too easy to open and the bush growing under it can suck it, because he jumps right over it.

Now?

Just run.

The trees and the bushes swallow him up and he's on his way deeper into the woods. He's on his way to freedom and a new life.

-:-

After a while, probably just a few minutes, the power, the strength he felt when he'd been leaving the cabin is starting to fade. It'd probably been just the adrenaline pumping through his veins that made him feel like he could do this.

He can't do this. He can't run. He can barely stumble. Can barely even see where he's going, his vision is blurry, the trees look like giant monsters with old, wrinkled hands trying to get him, capture him and break him like he's breaking twigs underneath his shoes.

His hand is hurting, the bleeding has stopped, but it's tender to the touch so he doesn't touch it, but he feels it stinging.

His steps are becoming unsure, he falters and then lurches back into a run and then almost stops again and when he starts to trip and fall more than he did a few minutes ago, he knows he'll have to surrender to his body. He will never surrender to anyone, but his body. He promises that to the darkening sky, when he all but falls on his ass, leaning his back to a tree trunk.

This was his shot and he blew it. Now he will either die here, get eaten by a wild animal, or the search party from camp will find him. Take him back. Call his parents.

Parents.

He can't ... the maggots are alive again, crawling, moving, squirming, touching his insides with their slimy bodies, making him sick to his stomach, spreading fear and panic throughout him. He aches. The pain spreading from his belly to his lower back, up his chest, to his throat. Up to his head and eyes, but he won't cry.

He's weary. Tired. Feels so tired.

He won't cry.

**TBC...**


	2. Chapter 2

Mike sighs. Jared's a power of, of freakin' nature, like a damn tree when he gets something in his head, there's nothing, nothing that will move him from where he stands. He becomes rooted in his convictions and everyone, including the rules and law, can go screw themselves.

"Okay man, okay. Look, lets go see how Jensen is doin', the drip's gonna be over soon and just," he rubs a hand down his face in frustration, "lets talk to him, see what he has to say and we'll do what he wants. Alright?"

"Mike, you didn't see the scars, you haven't talked to him..."

"Jared, stop. Stop man, look, lets just go talk to the kid, okay?"

"He ain't gonna talk."

"Jared, just ... shut up and come on."

The argument brought them to their limits and they're both hanging to their sanity and friendship with the tips of their fingers. One more word and Mike will scream and then punch something. Probably Jared and his pigheaded, freakin' huge head.

"Fine, let's go see how he is."

The door opens silently into a silent and empty room. The window is wide open, the bed is empty, everything is empty.

Jared's vision grays around the edges, not because of anger ... no, it's from sheer terror that Jensen went and killed himself. Because really, that's the only thing he can think of, as to why the room is empty. When it shouldn't be. Jensen should be lying on the bed, getting some vitamins and some hydration and some sleep and peace and quiet and now, there's nothing. Just a sheet lying on the floor and a messy bed, no shoes, no clothes, no Jensen.

"Goddamnit, goddamnit, goddamnit, Jared what the fuck?!"

He's watching Mike walk in circles around the room, empty room, walk from the bed to the window and back to the bed, as if Jensen is hiding somewhere in between.

"Mike, calm down. Don't swear, there are kids outside."

"Dude some of 'em swear worse than me. Fuck, man where is he?"

And isn't that a million dollar question.

Where is Jensen? Where is a boy of sixteen, who had been abused by the people who should have kept him safe from stuff like that? Where is a boy, that had been drugged up to his ears, because mommy and daddy dearest like him that way? Where is a boy who has never been who he is, but always who society thinks he is? Where is a boy, whose whole life had been nothing but pain and fear? Where is a boy who fights against everyone and everything, but is so weak inside, he can never win?

"Jesus, Jared we have to find him. He could've gone anywhere. Done anything."

Where is a boy, who wants to die so badly, just so that he could live?

"Naw, I know exactly where he is."

"Where?"

"Out there, in the woods. Probably not too far, he's still weak from last night."

"Uhh, alright, okay, so ... I'll go organize a search party, meet you here in," he checks his watch, "like fifteen minutes."

"No, no, I'll find him, I think I know where he went."

It's like an epiphany, a lightning that struck into his brain and left a note saying where Jensen is.

"Okay, let's go then."

-:-

There's a path that leads from the camp towards the woods, a path Jared knows Jensen took, because it's the only one that the guards haven't been watching for the past fifteen minutes and he knows Jensen had studied them, he knows that Jensen knows everything there is to know about the camp. He knows Jensen went down that path. But as to how far he had gotten before he had to stop, well, he never said he has answers to everything.

He's going to walk on the path until he finds Jensen and he guesses the search is a leap of faith. He has to trust his instincts. He has nothing else.

-:-

His ass feels numb. He's been sitting here for a long time, leaning on the hard tree trunk. He must have fallen asleep at some point, because the sunny day is slowly bleeding into evening but it's still warm out. He's still sweating and his heart is beating so fast, he feels like a butterfly is trapped inside his chest, flapping its wings. It kind of tickles, but its okay. He'll rest some more, get his breath back, get his heartbeat under control and then he will run again.

He lets his head fall backwards and hits the bark with a thud that makes stars explode beneath his eyelids. It doesn't hurt exactly; it's just a dull ache that swallows up the tears he wants to shed.

A bird flies out of a nearby bush, startling him into a near heart attack. The woods don't look so nice in the fading light. They look haunted, evil, distorted by huge, tall figures. The noises sound so near and so alive, he swallows down the lump of fear that's trying to crawl up from his belly.

He's not afraid. He had worse than what a forest in the evening can dish out. He had worse. He had a belt to his back, he had a tape across his mouth, choking on his own vomit, he had time outs kneeling in the corner for hours, he had days without food and water, he had days spent in his own piss and shit, he had days of bleeding on dirty, threadbare sheets, he had words thrown at him that stung like a whip.

He had worse. Much worse.

He opens his eyes. Doesn't want to see those days beneath his eyelids anymore. They hurt more now, than they had when they had been happening. The memories of them hurt so deeply, so purely, his breath hitches and he has to bite his lower lip, before he could scream. Because he won't cry.

-:-

"You sure you know where you're going?"

"Yeah, trust me."

He doesn't know for sure, he's going on a hunch here, but he won't tell Mike that. No way.

-:-

A stray sunbeam is shining directly on a rock, a few inches from his left hand. It's a rock with a sharp edge, he can see it. If he would have lived in the Stone Age, he'd made an axe out of it. It would probably crumble at first swing, but it's the thought that counts.

He reaches out for it, digs it out of the soil a bit and twists and turns it in his hand. It's ... beautiful. Light brown, thick on one side and thin and sharp as a razor on the other side. It really does look like an axe. What wonderful creations nature makes; shapes and sounds and creatures dead or alive. He runs the tip of his index finger along the sharp edge ... its fascinating. Brownish with white little dots, sparkling a bit when the dying sun hits it. Its hard in his hand, doesn't crumble when he squeezes it.

It's beautiful.

-:-

"Jared, we've been walkin' 'round for hours, man, we should go back, get more people involved."

Mike sounds out of breath; the guy isn't used to hiking or well, doing anything physical really.

But they can't stop now. Not now. Not ever. Not until they find Jensen and he's safe and sound back at camp.

So, he doesn't say anything, just keeps on walking. He fucking knows very well that they've been at this for a while, probably hours of walking around in the woods, but he just knows that the kid is here somewhere. He can feel it deep in his bones that Jensen is here somewhere, somewhere close.

The sun is dying, dusk floating in, and he's just hoping that Jensen isn't dying as well.

He feels a tug on his sleeve, a strong pull that makes him spin around and look at Mike. The guy has sweat running down his face in rivers.

"Jared we need to go get more people, get a search party started. This is a waste of time. I don't know why I listened to you in the first place."

"Fine, you go back, I'll keep lookin'. Bring people, but I won't go back, alright. I can't."

I can't, because Jensen is my responsibility, I failed him, I hadn't been there looking out for him, he ran away on my watch.

He doesn't say all that doesn't really have to, because Mike being a doctor, understands it.

"Fine."

"Fine."

And he watches Mike turn around and walk towards the camp. He sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose and continues walking. He damn well knows that the kid couldn't have gotten far, his body had been weak to begin with, he had probably been running on pure adrenaline and that adrenaline had to disappear at some point. He just hopes that when that happened Jensen had been in some sort of a shelter, because passing out in the middle of the forest, not being covered by at least a tree, could be fatal.

He keeps on walking, avoiding trees and bushes, checking everywhere.

-:-

Such a beautiful rock. Sparkling like crystal. Like that crystal vase his mother had, that broke when he collided with the table when his dad kicked him in the ribs. He stumbled and fell, hit his head on the table, making it rock and the vase fall down. When the sound of it breaking reached him, his heart nearly stopped beating. He doesn't remember much of that day, just the stinging pain on his palms when he had to pick up every piece of the vase with his bare hands. There are still three scars he can see on his palms, a remembrance of that day.

He puts the rock in his lap and looks at his palm. Yeah, three scars where the crystal cut him, and sharp little pieces made home in his flesh. He had to dig them out with his fingernails - blunt as they had been - slipping in blood. His mother had tea with Mrs. Leight that afternoon, and when she got home, she sent him to his room without food, not even allowing him to wash up. He fell asleep with bloody, stinging palms and a stomach screaming for food.

He picks up the rock. Magnificent. And sharp. He needs to bleed that memory out. He has to...

The rock cuts through his skin surprisingly easy. It shouldn't be a surprise really, it's sharp, but it still feels like his skin is butter and the rock a hot knife. He doesn't feel any pain, not really, it hurt more when he ripped out his IV, but there's this softness that washes over him when he sees the blood well up from the cut on his forearm. It stings a bit now, when he really looks at it, but it's kinda pretty too. How the cut is small, thin, and how it takes awhile for the blood to start really running from it. It's fascinating how the memory of the day of the vase, just ... leaves him. Drifts away through the blood dripping down to the ground.

He makes another cut, this one a bit deeper, a bit longer on the inside of his forearm, where the skin is thinner and he can see his veins. That one hurts a bit, but he had worse. The blood comes to the surface faster here, and it's warm and makes him feel so much better watching it slowly drip to the ground.

He closes his eyes and leans his head back on the trunk, breathing in and out the fresh, clean air.

-:-

He starts yelling Jensen's name. If that will spook the kid into running so be it, at least then maybe he will have a noise to follow. He yells the name with hands cupped around his mouth, yells it as loudly as he can. Maybe, just maybe the kid will yell something back, but most likely, he will make himself even quieter.

But he really has no other choice. He has to find Jensen and bring him back to camp, before ... before the kid does something no one 's gonna be able to fix.

"Jensen!"

-:-

"Jensen!"

He startles, opens his eyes and drops the rock to the ground. His heartbeat goes from normal to too fast, his breathing picks up pace and he feels lightheaded with too much air, too fast heartbeat and panic twisting and turning in his stomach.

Jared. It's a voice he could recognize anywhere. It's specific; deep and soft, gentle and hard.

He looks down at his arm; one cut is still bleeding a bit, while the other is sealed by clogged blood.

"Jensen!"

He can hear twigs breaking and leaves rustling, so the guy is nearby.

Shit, shit, shit. Nononono! He squeezes his eyes shut, tuning out the world and maybe Jared won't find him. He pulls his fingers into fists, nails biting into his skin, and the hurt is soothing, but it won't hide him from Jared.

He feels heat spread up from his belly up to his cheeks and the tips of his ears, he knows he's red as a lobster, but he can't help it. Its anxiety and dread combined that make him pull up his legs, squeeze his fists close to his chest and make himself look as small as he can.

He's terrified. Not of Jared, but of being found and taken back to camp, back to his parents.

Nonono, he had been so close to getting away. Why did he stop? Why did he sleep? Why?

No!

He whimpers. It's the fear and the panic and the anger he feels at himself for being so fucking stupid. So he whimpers.

The noise stops. The forest is silent like its listening.

"Jensen?"

It's not a shout, it's a question and it comes from behind him. From behind the tree. He never noticed, but the tree is massive, and he's kind of lying between its roots that are poking out from the ground.

"Jensen?"

The noise starts again and no matter how much he squeezes his eyes shut, no matter how small he makes himself look, no matter that he wants to puke and push himself further into the tree trunk ... he knows that when he will open his eyes, Jared will be standing right there.

Because no matter what he does or how much he tries, he can never shut out the world. Can never shut out Jared.

-:-

He hears something. It isn't a bird, isn't an animal, isn't the sound of leaves or tree trunks rubbing together. It isn't a forest sound. It's human.

"Jensen?"

He listens, but there's no more sound. He takes a few steps towards a huge tree on his left and rounds it.

"Jensen?"

There ... there he is. Jensen.

He doesn't know what to do now. Jensen looks like every muscle in his body is pulled tight, just ready to jump and flee. He doesn't wanna spook the kid, doesn't wanna turn on the kid's fight or flight reflex. So he stops a few feet away, and crouches down, his feet feeling heavy from all the walking, but he rests his weight on his heels anyway, puts his forearms on his knees and waits.

Watches.

-:-

He can feel the shrink looking him. Can feel those eyes on him. Burning him. His nerves are as tight as his muscles and he wants to spring up and run away, but he knows he won't get far, because Jared's legs are twice as long as his and he'll get caught before he even makes two steps.

He wants to go into his head, into a world where everything is painless, where there is no fear, where he goes when the pain and the smell of his own blood gets too much. A world so deep inside of him, sometimes he thinks he will never come out again.

But: "You can't shut out the world, Jensen. I know you want to, but you can't."

The words stop him. They're whispered, so soft and gentle and muted by his heartbeat loud in his ears.

He doesn't know what to do. He doesn't wanna open his eyes, because then he will see Jared and, and, and everything will be real, but he can't keep his eyes squeezed so tight anymore, because he can already feel tears gathering.

He takes a deep breath. He's hungry and thirsty and his hand where the needle had been throbs; hurts more than the two cuts he made with the rock and, his head hurts too. There's too much terror coiled in him, it's like a beast in fetal position inside of him, just ready to spread out and he doesn't know what to do. It's a constant battle in him, a battle that is making his nerves as thin as hair. Who to trust? What to do? What's gonna happen? He wants to live, he wants to die, he wants, he wants...

"Jared?" he whispers, voice rough, his throat tender.

"Yeah, 's me buddy, whatcha doin', huh?"

He lets his fists fall open, relaxes back into the tree, lets his legs do what they want and opens his eyes.

He doesn't see Jared right away, and its a shock, because no one had ever, ever respected his personal space like this before, everyone else just crowded him, pushed as close to him as possible and if he hadn't been on drugs, he'd spat in their faces.

But Jared is not there in front of him, taking away his air. No, he's crouched to his right, a few feet away from him and okay. That's okay. That's better, that makes it easier to breathe.

He shrugs: "I heard you talking about calling my parents."

"Naw man, we won't do that."

"I heard ya."

"Okay, okay ... listen, we have to call them, it's the law and all, but we're gonna break the rules here, okay?"

Oh?

"Why?"

Isn't that a loaded question. Why? Three letters, simple as pie, but to answer it ... Goddamnit, he's not trained enough for this.

"Jensen, just ... We're gonna break the rules, okay."

The look on his face says enough and he knows Jensen is a smart kid and will figure it out.

"Oh, o-okay."

He starts to come down from the high of terror, that had his heart and stomach in a vice grip and the forest seems lighter now. Brighter, even in the setting sun. It's still warm enough that he's sweating, but it's not in cold sweat. He looks ahead into the vast field of trees, everywhere his gaze falls, its tree after a tree. It's so peaceful, he definitely could stay here.

He hears Jared shift but he doesn't look that way, he knows the man won't crowd him, won't come nearer than necessary. Will respect his personal space and for that, the guy get points on his "good guy" chart. He glances to his right and sees that Jared had moved a bit closer, but he's still far enough not to make it impossible to breathe. He's sitting on the floor now, picking apart a dried leaf. The torn pieces are falling to the ground between his legs and its kinda cool watching it.

The silence stretches between them, but it's comfortable. He doesn't wanna break it, he wants to capture it and take it with him, so that he could forever have this moment ... when things will get out of control.

He gives Jared another point to the list, a point for not pushing. A point for not demanding to talk, when the silence is so beautiful.

And then Jared clears his throat.

Crap.

"Jensen, what's that on your arm?"

Crap.

"Jensen, what did you do?"

Crap.

"Hey, don't ... don't shut me out, don't ... just, look ... just, what happened?"

Crap. Crap. Crap. He hits his head on the tree trunk, once, twice, three times, because noooo, he doesn't wanna talk about this. He wants the silence back. Can he just have the silence back?

"Jensen, stop, stop. Listen, listen, Jensen, hey ... Come on, just tell me what happened, okay? 'm not mad, it's okay, just ... tell me."

Nooo, he doesn't want to. Its just two shallow cuts, just two cuts where memories dripped away from. It's nothing. Nothing. Can he just have the silence back, please? Can he?

"Jensen, hey ... you came to me last night, asked me to help you, remember?

He can't breathe again. He needs to; he can't ... uhhh ... nooo!

"Jensen, whooah, hey, don't, its okay. You're okay. Can you ... can you focus on me?"

He shakes his head. No, he can't look at the guy, he can't make himself move, he can't ... uhhh, his chest...

"Okay, can you focus on that tree over there? It's right in front of you, just look at that. See it? Focus on that."

He sees the tree, a bit blurry, but he can see it and he doesn't have to move to look at it, which is good. His muscles are feeling tight again and his flight or fight instinct is kicking in, but ... but Jared is keeping his place away from him, which is good. He just wishes the guy could stop talking.

"Okay, good, that's good. Just keep your eyes on the tree. Good."

It does feel good to just stare at something that can't do sudden movements, can't reach for him and hurt him, can't talk and can't make him do anything he doesn't wanna do. It's calming.

"Good, just keep your eyes on the tree and breathe. You're safe here, understand?"

He nods. He does understand. It's so clear to him, this feeling of content, of being safe and relaxed and that there is nothing on the world that could hurt him this very moment. It's a powerful feeling and it makes him sink further into the tree, all his muscles loosen up and his breathing even and deep.

He could fall asleep right this second. His eyelids feel heavy, his arms fall down to the ground, palms facing the sky, his head lolls over the bark, and he feels light as air.

"Good, you're doing real' good. Just keep on lookin' at the tree, listen to me, okay. Eyes on the tree. Listen to me, do you see it? See how it's tall, strong, steady?"

He nods. He can see it. Its big, sturdy, looks like nothing could break it. Not even the dusk falling slowly on it.

"Good Jensen, you're doin' good buddy. Eyes on the tree and breathe. That's it."

Jared's voice is silky smooth, the words a quiet whisper, almost like a melody. A lullaby.

He's feeling really, really sleepy.

"You asked for my help but you have to let me help you. I mean this, this has got to stop, okay?

Yeah okay. He wants to say that, but his tongue, his lips, his teeth feel so heavy. So he blinks.

"We'll keep this to ourselves, but Jensen, you cut yourself again."

He looks down to his forearm that is lying by his side, like its dead.

"Didn't mean to." he murmurs and gets his eyes back on the tree.

"Alright, 's alright. Just keep lookin' at the tree and let me take a look. I won't touch ya, okay? I'll just take a look."

"Okay."

"Okay."

He really doesn't feel Jared touch him, he just feels eyes on the inside of his arm, where one of the cuts is. He knows the blood is already clogged; it will only be another scar in the sea of many and he's okay with that, because whenever he will look at this scar, he will remember this peaceful forest, the strong tree in front of him and a strong tree supporting his back. He will remember Jared's words, will remember the silence between them, will remember feeling safe and light as air.

"Damnit, Jensen." the words aren't anger, they're a sigh. Which is worse, because anger he can deal with, disappointment, not so much.

"Sorry, 'm sorry." he whispers and the tree in front of him gets even blurrier, like he's looking at it from underwater.

"Its okay, you didn't mean business here, right?"

"N-nno." He stutters, hesitant like admitting it, is a weakness.

"Okay, buddy, okay."

"Just wanted it to stop."

"I know, man."

"You said you'll call 'em."

"I won't. Won't, I swear."

"Okay."

The tree disappears from his sight, replaced by water. He's crying. He's ... crying.

"Jensen..." its gentle, his name, gentle and spoken with a low voice, like Jared doesn't wanna spook him or doesn't know what to say.

"Come on, let's get back, get you into bed."

He doesn't wanna go back! No! Noo!

But he feels sleepy, so sleepy and the tears are making his vision swim. The tree is just a smudge of something brown now.

"My hand hurts." he sticks it out and sees a bruise spreading across the back of his shaky hand. Looks kind of cool and kind of disgusting. He can only feel pain there when he looks at it, otherwise it's like it isn't even there.

"You pulled out your IV."

"I didn't know what to do."

"Its okay, Mike will fix it. Its okay, come on."

He has no strength to resist Jared's arms sliding under his knees and back. He has no strength to fight when Jared lifts him up from the ground. No strength to keep his head from falling onto Jared's hard chest. No strength to resist the need to curl up into the man's body and let himself be carried back to camp.

He goes back wrapped in strong arms and a steady, strong heartbeat coming from inside Jared's chest.

He goes back with a memory of this. A good memory of being tucked safely in arms that mean no harm.

He goes back probably for the last time.

**The End (but more to come)**


End file.
